


My Father's Son

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-27
Updated: 2004-12-27
Packaged: 2018-07-12 09:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7096381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Billy, but it takes place before Fred goes to visit Wes. After attacking Fred and being knocked out, Wesley goes home and, while trying to grasp the night’s events, realizes the kind of man that he is. Extremely angsty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Father's Son

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

* * *

“I’m looking through you; where did you go?  
I thought I knew you; what did I know?”  
\-- The Beatles

\--

-1998-

“Wesley?”

He turned away from the door, not wanting his mother to see his face. “I’m fine, mum. Please go.” He felt the cool, familiar touch of his mother’s hand on the back of his neck, comforting. The memory of his father’s rage-infused face was still clear in his mind.

“Wesley, it’s all right. You’re going to America to be a Watcher, and you will make your father proud. I know it.”

He sighed. “Mother, he…he still hurts me, when he says those things. It doesn’t get better with age, and it won’t get better no matter what I do. Dad will always hate me.”

“He doesn’t hate you, darling,” his mother whispered. “Your father has such high expectations of you because he wants to see you succeed.”

It was a bad lie, one that she had used for many years, and he knew it. He closed his eyes, tired of the game. “I hate him, Mother.”

“I know,” his mother replied after a short pause. “I hate him, too. And you must promise me one thing.”

He turned to face her. “Anything.”

His mother’s eyes were full of sadness and she cupped her cool hand to his cheek. “Promise me that you will never become him, Wesley. You are good and sweet and kind, but your father is still your father. Never, ever become the sort of man he is. Promise me.”

He grasped his mother’s hand tightly in his own, feeling it tremble. “I promise, Mother. I promise you.”

—

-Present-

Light from the hall flooded into the dark apartment as Wesley opened the door silently, holding one hand to the bruise on his forehead. Pulling the key from the lock and stepping inside, Wes closed the door behind him, plunging the room back into darkness. He did not turn on the light.

_“It wouldn’t be a bad idea if one of us were standing by at the hospital, visiting a sick relative.”  
“Maybe happen to strike up a conversation with the hospital staff or one of her buddies?”  
“Maybe.”_  
Hours ago, things had been normal. Happy. Now, everything had changed and Wesley was numb from the shock. He set his coat down on a chair with trembling hands.  
 _Abuser,_ he thought. _The Abuser sets his coat down, turns, goes into the kitchen to make tea. The Abuser has returned to his home._  
Every move that Wesley made felt like he was travelling through molasses. Even breathing felt taboo; someone like him, who hurt those he loved, didn’t deserve air.  
 _Father never had any trouble making a pot of tea after he beat me,_ Wesley remembered as he filled the kettle with water, set it on the stove, and opened up the cupboard above the countertop to get a teacup. _I’d hear it whistling from that cupboard where I was locked.  
I’m making a pot of tea without any trouble, too. Like father, like son._  
This realization hit Wesley in the gut like a gunshot. A surge of defiant anger raced through his veins like liquid fire.  
 _Damn it, damn it, damn it!_ he thought, slamming the cupboard door with each repetition. _Damn it!_  
The door cracked and broke.  
Wesley stared at the piece of wood in his hand and felt sick. He back away, dropping the wood, dizzy.  
 _Oh, god, I can’t stop,_ he realized. _Once it’s begun, it can’t be undone. I have become…I have become my father._  
Wesley backed up until his legs hit the back of the couch, and then he sank to the floor with his back resting against the chintz and his legs sticking out in front of him. Wes closed his eyes against the harsh fluorescent light from the stove and tried to listen for his heartbeat.  
 _“What do you tell a woman who has two black eyes?”_  
Wesley shuddered. Fred probably hated him, and why shouldn’t she? Wes had nearly killed her. He had said…horrible things. Things his father would say.  
 _I have become my father._  
He pulled his knees in closer to his body, suddenly cold. _No!_ Wesley wanted to protest. _No! I love her. I have always loved her. I would never hurt her…but I did. I hurt her…like Dad used to hurt me._  
Wes couldn’t go back to work. He couldn’t face any of the people he called family; especially not Fred. Everything had changed now. Nothing would ever be the same. Any chance that Wesley might have had with Fred was gone forever.  
 _“Would you like to hear my theory, Fred? It’s about how stupid you are. I believe that after five years of living in a cave, you’ll instinctively retreat to small dark places, rather than run outside where you’ll be safe.”_  
Wesley hadn’t been under any spell; he had known exactly what he was doing to Fred, and he did it anyway. It had felt good to vent all the anger he had in his heart. It left him pleasantly empty.  
 _I have become my father._  
Wes sighed, turning his head so that his cheek lay against the couch’s fabric. He was exhausted, but the night held so many nightmares. So many.  
His father, eyes blazing in red anger: _“Why can’t you ever do anything right? Have I raised a complete moron for a son? You will never be a man, never.”_  
And then…tonight… _“Fred? I know what you’re doing. What you’re up to. Luring me, forcing me to find you. oh, it’s such a dog and pony show…you beguile me with your girlish ways; I pursue you, but you never give over, do you? No, you just keep laughing and running. Well, guess what, my love? I’m not some downy-faced schoolboy. I’m a man.”_  
No. This was not the kind of man that Wesley wanted to be.  
But…he was. He was. He had hurt someone that he truly liked, someone he was halfway to being in love with, and there could be no denying it.  
 _I have become my father._  
The phone began to ring, destroying the cold silence, and Wes looked up at his desk. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.  
The answering machine clicked to life. “Hello; Wesley Wyndam-Price is unavailable, but please leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”  
Familiar. Too familiar.  
“Wesley? Hey, Wesley, pick up. I know you’re there. We have to talk.”  
Wes closed his eyes tightly and he felt a soft moan escape his lips. Cordelia.  
“Wes, come on. This is not as bad as you think it is. Just…let me try to help you, okay? We can all—all—work through this, together, as a family. What happened tonight was not your fault. I—”  
Her forty seconds of tape was done. The answering machine cut her off, and the echo of Cordy’s voice spun in the air, settling on Wesley’s shoulders and pushing down until the weight became so unbearable that he had to resist the urge to cry out.  
So much pain, and he deserved it all.  
 _“I’m sorry, Wesley.”  
“You’re sorry?”  
“You were right about me liking dark places to hide in…but you also forgot I like to build things.”_  
The bruise on the side of Wes’ face began to ache, sending shots of pain through his head. Retribution.  
 _“I’m sorry, Wesley.”_  
More phone calls would come, he knew. All of his friends would call and drop by, try to—  
 _Making a pot of tea without any trouble._  
—comfort him, try to make everything right and normal again, but there was no more normal. Never, ever—  
 _I can’t stop._  
—again would anything be normal. Wesley would never be able to look at Fred again without seeing the terror in her eyes, the terror that he caused.  
 _“I’m sorry, Wesley.”_  
He bent his head as the tears, hot and acidic, began to fall. “I’m sorry, Fred,” he whispered. “I am so, so sorry.”  
 _I have become my father._  
Roger Wyndam-Price’s memory was lurking in the darkness, always awaiting Wesley’s failures. Through the tears that overcame him, Wes could see his father smiling.  
 _You have become—  
No I haven’t.  
Yes you have.  
No. Please.  
Don’t deny it, boy._  
Don’t deny it. It's who you are.  
\--

_Yes.  
I have become my father.  
I have become…  
I have become…_  
No. _Become_ was not right.

_I am._


End file.
